


Notarized Homewrecking

by twoseas



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Losers Club Love Each Other (IT), but Eddie and Stan had close calls with canon, but things are looking up, of sorts, the Losers are a mess, yet another Myra shows up at the hospital fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoseas/pseuds/twoseas
Summary: Eddie’s recovering in the hospital under the watchful eyes of Richie and the Losers Club when his wife shows up.Except apparently she isn’t going to be his wife for much longer. Nor is she meant to be there. At all.Featuring Eddie’s bureaucracy defying paperwork skills, Richie’s emotions getting all over the place, Myra Kaspbrak’s unfortunate role as a reminder of some of Eddie and Bev’s non-clown related issues, and the Losers being in it together.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 38
Kudos: 376





	Notarized Homewrecking

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic I’m using the classic canon divergence strategy of “Eddie got stabbed by Pennywise but didn’t die because fuck that noise and the clown specifically with a rusty fence post” and Stan survived his attempt and joined with the Losers because they should all be together and on the way to happy. 
> 
> Please, enjoy!

Richie watched Eddie’s chest move up and down, his eyes fixed on the movement like he was scared it would stop. He was. 

Doped up and stitched like an elbow patch on a professor’s jacket, Eddie was finally awake and aware enough to join in the conversation with the other (slightly less) injured and (slightly more) sleep deprived Losers. 

“D’you think it’ll scar?” Eddie asked groggily, peering down at his bandaged chest with a critical, if glazed, eye. 

“Yeah, Eddie,” Bill sighed fondly, a relieved slackness to his face now that Eddie was more or less lucid. His under eye bags were starting to rival Richie’s and they’d probably both be charged extra next time they got on a plane. “It’s definitely going to scar.”

Richie’s gaze flickered from Eddie’s slowly rising and falling chest to the machines that monitored his heart rate. 

“That’s a good thing,” Mike added with a gentle smile. “Means you made it.”

“It’s going to be ugly,” Eddie groused. “The stitches in this hospital aren’t up to standard. The doctors here need to seriously consider undergoing a retraining program.”

He made a face, wary and displeased, and Richie’s heart gave a happy skip at his making expressions again, no longer too pale and too unmoving in the stark light of the hospital bed. Richie watched Eddie’s face, cataloguing all the different ticks and muscle movements. Most were familiar, but slowed by the drugs keeping Eddie from being in too much pain. Richie couldn’t regret that even if it was disconcerting to see jumped up, neurotic, fast talking Eddie slowed down so much. 

“They saved you from a giant hole in your chest,” Stan defended dryly. “I think you can give them some leeway. Besides, we’ll match.”

Holding out his bandaged arm, Stan smiled a gallows smile, full of dark humor. 

The Losers went quiet, everyone thinking about how close they came to being incomplete. 

Richie chewed on his words, stomach tight and anxious. He felt simultaneously covered in ants and filled with lead. 

He cleared his throat and spoke, voice still raw and scratchy from all the screaming and crying. “If either of you do that to us again, I will tell everyone at your funerals how tiny your dicks are.”

“Fuck off, bro. My dick is not tiny,” Eddie automatically denied, brow furrowing. Richie bit back the automatic response of asking him to prove it.

“I would rather dicks not be mentioned at my funeral at all,” Stan told them matter of factly. 

“Don’t worry,” Bev assured them. “If I see Richie anywhere near a microphone, I’ll snatch it from him.”

“I’ll just hold it above my head, I don’t think your little arms and legs can reach.” Bev went around Stan to smack Richie’s bicep (struggling to do so because her little arms couldn’t really reach). Rather than look anything close to chastened, Richie just went with the flow, tipping slightly in the opposite direction. “Besides, if anyone can’t be trusted with a microphone, it’s Stan. He went bananas in front of Derry’s entire Jewish population.”

“I was going through a lot,” Stan sighed. He rubbed his forehead. “God, I wish I still didn’t remember that.”

“You should be happy, it was the coolest you’d ever been,” Richie informed him. “And based on those exciting slacks you’re sporting, it’s probably the coolest you’ll ever be.”

Stan made a face before looking self-consciously down at his slacks.

“Hey, is that my luggage?” Eddie asked out of nowhere, voice going up an octave in curiosity. “When did that get here?”

“Richie brought it last night because the doctors said you’d be more conscious today,” Ben told him at once, the fucking handsome eight pack sporting snitch. 

Richie looked down at his hands as he wrung them together. A few nights ago he finally managed to scrub all of Eddie’s blood out from under his nails, even if it still felt like it was there. 

“Richie?”

Looking up at Eddie’s prompting, Richie scratched the back of his head and turned towards where the suitcases sat, a carry on sized bag resting on top of them. “Yeah, uh, I guess I thought you might want some of your stuff when you woke up.”

“So you brought me all my luggage?” 

Not really sure what to make of Eddie’s wondering tone, Richie nodded awkwardly. “Um, yeah. It was a real pain in the ass convincing the nursing staff you needed all of it. But I turned up the ol’ Tozier charm and it seemed to work. Don’t worry, I didn’t go through it or anything.”

The others watched him with knowing expressions, smirks slowly forming on their faces, and Richie felt that old familiar panic building along with its long term companions the need to diffuse the situation and redirect attention to something else. 

“Might’ve licked a few zippers, just to keep it interesting,” Richie joked, voice strained.

“You’re so gross,” Eddie laughed softly, turning his head against the pillow. It pushed his dark hair up at contradictory angles, his normally neat style turned to mussed bed head. That paired with Eddie’s genuine smile and pointed eye contact with some some upsettingly warm fucking eyes had Richie swallowing and looking away. 

“Oh, Eddie! What have they done to you!?” 

The entire group turned as one while a blonde woman rushed in. Nurses followed her, harried frowns creasing their features. 

“Ma’am, you can’t be in here,” one of them said sternly. 

“He’s my husband!” She pushed past the Losers, physically shoving Stan and Richie out of the way to fuss over the injured man. Her hands hovered above the bandages, but she had enough sense not to touch. Warmth turned to horror in Eddie’s deep brown eyes. 

Richie reached out to Stan, silently checking the bandages for new blood in case the woman’s shove pulled Stan’s stitches. Stan let him with an indulgent sigh. Once Richie was happy with the sight of clean white gauze, he turned an undisguised frown of judgement towards the woman. 

“Myra, what are you doing here?” Eddie’s fear turned to anger. “Didn’t you get the papers?”

“I threw those out,” she dismissed, ignoring the dark looks and nurses threats. 

“We are so sorry, Mr. Kaspbrak,” one of the nurses told him. “We tried to keep her out. We’ve called security.”

“You need to leave,” Eddie said at once, absolutely certain. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I need to take care of you.” She glared at the Losers. “Protect you.” 

Ben, Mike, and Bill shared confused, worried looks while Richie, Stan, and Bev all glowered unblinkingly. Eddie’s wife was bringing up some not so fond memories of the original Mrs. Kaspbrak and the Losers had enough experience with her to be increasingly uncomfortable and on guard for whatever happened next. 

“I’m his emergency contact and his wife and I need these people out of here,” she declared impatiently, waving a disdainful hand at everyone. 

“We’ve already told you. Mr. Kaspbrak’s instructions were very explicit,” the second nurse told her unapologetically while the first shouted for someone out in the hallway. “ _They_ can be here. You can’t.”

“How dare you, I am his wife!” The volume of her voice rose and soon Ben and Mike and Bill were standing alongside Stan, Bev, and Richie in their collective anger at the woman. 

“Mr. Kaspbrak needs rest,” the nurse soldiered on. “And I won’t have you disturbing that, ma’am.”

Myra opened her mouth to no doubt shout down the nurse, but Eddie cut across with a snapped out, “Richie, hand me my bag.”

Richie made his way towards the small pile of luggage and stared unblinkingly at it all. Hazarding a guess, Richie started rolling one of the wheeled suitcases towards the hospital bed.

Making one of his fantastic sputteringly offended noises, Eddie declared, “The bag, dipshit. Not a suitcase, my fucking _bag_.”

Smiling in both apology and amusement, Richie did as bid without question, carefully setting the bag at Eddie’s side while completely ignoring the deathly eye daggers he got from the missus. 

Eddie made to sit up, a wince of pain contorting his features. “Eds,” Richie murmured at one, leaning in to make sure he was alright. 

“I’m fine,” Eddie wheezed. “Can you pull out the manila envelope?”

Checking over Eddie one more time just to be sure, Richie unzipped the bag. It was well organized, several leather folders contained within along with some other neatly packed shit and the aforementioned manila envelope. 

“Here you go, my good man,” Richie presented the envelope with a little bow and flourish to try and make the now somber faced Eddie smile. 

He succeeded and they shared a grin. Eddie’s didn’t last long and Richie’s disappeared soon after, the shorter man pulling a substantial stack of papers from the envelope. Some were clipped together and Richie noticed a notary stamp or two. 

“Copies,” Eddie said at once. He aggressively waved the stack and it was thick enough to make that fun thunder noise as it flopped back and forth in his hand. “Divorce papers, restraining order, division of assets according to the prenuptial agreement, my updated will, instructions in the event of medical emergency, changes to my life insurance, power of attorney, and emergency contact.”

Richie’s eyebrows rose higher and higher, the other Losers looking similarly agog.

“Eddie, you’re being silly,” Myra tried. 

“I’m being serious,” Eddie told her, voice like bedrock. “I have the papers, my lawyer is on call, and I can easily have you arrested.”

“How in the ever loving fuck did you manage all that in the two days between Mike calling and ending up here?” Richie wondered aloud. 

“I’m very good at paperwork,” Eddie told him. And he wasn’t kidding. 

“That’s more than good,” Stan mumbled, leaning around Richie to check out the papers. His eyebrows did an interesting twist like they couldn’t decide between rising incredulously or lowering in confusion. “That’s impossible.” 

“I’m a librarian, I deal with cataloguing every day,” Mike mumbled into Bill’s ear. “And that’s damn impressive.”

“Maybe he was bitten by a radioactive paperclip,” Bill suggested, elbowing Mike genially to make him chuckle. 

“If you’re looking for a job in legal, I could always use somebody,” Ben grinned. 

Bev made a face. “And I might ask for your help in the near future.”

“Of course,” Eddie agreed at once. “Whenever you need, Bev.”

Myra gasped, low and scandalized. 

A lone security guard came in with the returning nurse. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to escort you out.”

“They can stay, but his spouse suddenly has no rights?” Myra questioned, she turned back to Eddie. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we’re miserable!” Eddie shouted, wincing again when the effort tugged at his injury. Richie put a hand to Eddie’s shoulder in worry, but Eddie set his mind at ease, patting his hand in assurance. “If I died in my shitty hometown, I didn’t want you planning my funeral. And if I survived but was seriously injured, I sure as hell didn’t want you controlling what happened at the hospital. And if I survived unscathed, I didn’t want us to be married. Period. How did you even find me?!”

“I tracked your phone,” Myra sniffed, starting to look teary eyed. Richie would’ve felt worse if he hadn’t witnessed the OG Mrs. Kaspbrak pull the same shit thirty years ago.

“Ok, ma’am, you really need to leave,” the security guard interrupted, looking between them all with an expression of disbelief. “I’d prefer it if you left voluntarily, but there is a police car out front and if he really does have a restraining order on you…”

He let the implications of that linger. 

“This is crazy,” she declared, looking around for an ally as if she hadn’t upset literally every single person in the room. Richie had to hand it to her, that sure was something - he usually only managed to upset three-quarters of a room at any given time. When no one came to her defense, her eyes narrowed at Bev again, specifically where Bev’s hand was curled over the end of Eddie’s bed. “Eddie, how long have you been planning this? Changing all your paperwork, surrounding yourself with strangers, promising this woman I’ve never met help whenever she needs. This isn’t the work of a few days!”

Richie would’ve agreed with her if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew Eddie, lost years be damned, and if anyone could make paperwork into their bitch, it was that gorgeous little motormouth munchkin. 

“Well?” Myra demanded of Bev, running with the idea. “Are you happy to be a homewrecker?”

Bev’s surprise at being directly addressed was quickly replaced by a stony frown, eyes betraying nothing. 

The other Losers puffed up, anger on Bev’s behalf crackling between them like an electric thing that lashed through the air. Myra’s accusation was bad enough to set them on edge, but it was also paired with the return of their memories. They remembered the shit Bev was put through when she was just a kid. Now that they were adults with adult attention spans and adult experience in the world, they could really understand how unbelievably fucked up it all was. Myra was unwittingly reminding them of all the people who treated Bev like shit on top of reminding them of Eddie’s overbearing and abusive mother. She was unconsciously walking across a minefield of childhood trauma and Richie hoped for all their sakes she didn’t trigger any more than she already had. He was one homophobic remark away from going full 2007 Britney and he suspected the other Losers were similarly over it. 

“You’re understandably upset,” Ben told her, calm voice unyielding. “But Bev has nothing to do with this.”

The others nodded their agreement, jaws clenched and arms crossed. Richie chewed the inside of his cheek, keeping in anything he might say that could make the situation worse. Which was a lot. Like so much. God, he was fucking good at throwing gasoline on garbage fires. He literally bit his tongue to hold it all back. Eddie had a giant hole in his chest and was dealing with his (now apparently ex?!) wife, he didn’t need the added stress of Richie going all Mrs. O’Leary’s cow in this bitch. 

Eddie blinked at Bev, confusion writ in the wrinkles of his forehead and the pursing of his lips. “Yeah, sorry, Bev. You don’t deserve that. If anyone’s the homewrecker, it’s Richie.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Richie questioned at once. 

“I mean,” Stan began, taking the pile of papers from Eddie’s lap and shuffling through the documents. “You are his new emergency contact. Beneficiary. Power of attorney.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Richie stressed. 

“Eddie,” Bev whispered, a smile breaking through her quiet upset. She glanced at the nurses and security guards who were hustling out a barely cooperative Myra and lowered her voice even further. “Did you forge Richie’s signature?”

“No one can prove that he wasn’t one hundred percent sober,” Eddie mumbled back. 

Richie combed through his memories of the last few batshit insane days. He vaguely remembered signing something and giving Eddie a bunch of his information because he was a little buzzed, a lot freaked out, and it was _Eddie_ and he asked and frankly Richie wanted to do whatever the little bastard asked him to do because, like he said, it was Eddie. 

“What the fuck,” he declared simply.

“I’m pretty sure misleading someone into signing some of this stuff is a crime,” Stan added, voice just as hushed as Bev and Eddie’s. 

Richie stared at Eddie, taking in the fidgeting fingers, the tapping toes under the light blue hospital issued blanket, and the dodgy, shifty eyes. He looked like a rat and Richie loved him so much. 

“Eddie, you committed a crime just to get me on your paperwork? That’s so sexy.”

“You’re not mad?” Eddie asked, voice small but tentatively hopeful. 

“At you? Never.” He was _Eddie_ , of course Richie wasn’t mad.

“Good,” Eddie grinned down at his hands. “That’s good.”

“Although,” Richie drawled teasingly. “You probably shouldn’t trust me with so much power. What if I told them to pull the plug? I could be living it up like a rich old Hollywood widow, dripping with pearls and draped in highly unethically sourced fur coats.”

“You wouldn’t,” Eddie countered with sleepy certainty. Now that Myra had been escorted from the premises, Eddie’s body seemed to recall that it was healing from a very large, very serious wound with quite a lot of drugs running through its veins. His eyelids started to droop.

“He’d never,” Bill chipped in. 

“Nobody asked you, Bill,” Richie said in his best indoor shout - loud enough that Bill knew his additions were unwelcome, but not loud enough to have him kicked out with the former Mrs. Kaspbrak. 

“We all know you wouldn’t,” Mike told Richie with a shrug.

Stan and Bev snorted their agreement while Ben watched Richie and Eddie with a soft-hearted smile, the romantic dope. 

Eddie reached out and grabbed Richie’s hand, linking their fingers together. 

Richie sat down on the edge of the hospital bed and stared, finding it hard to believe but even harder to deny. That most certainly was Eddie’s hand in his hand. Yup. That was happening. 

“I know she didn’t ask me,” Richie said, breaking the silence of the newly peaceful room. “But I’m actually very happy to be a homewrecker.”

“We should kiss when I’m feeling better and my mouth isn’t so sore and dry and disgusting,” Eddie suggested, slowly drifting off. 

The Losers ooed and awwed them like the cheesy assholes they were.

“Yeah, man,” Richie rasped, tears filling his eyes and welling over. “That’d be cool.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Mike: Careful, Richie. Eddie might end up on your lease without you ever realizing.  
> Bill: Or your life insurance.  
> Ben: Joint bank accounts.  
> Bev: Better yet, a marriage license.  
> Eddie, hiding papers under his pillow: Ha ha super funny, guys.  
> Stan: What have you got there, Eddie?  
> Eddie: Shut up, shut up, shut your stupid face, Stan.  
> Richie: It’s cute that you guys don’t realize just how gay I am for Eddie. I’d sign that shit today, no question.  
> Eddie, slowly pulling the papers back out: Are you joking? How serious are you about that? You have to tell me if you’re joking, Richie.


End file.
